


The last verses that I write for you

by Fitzroya



Series: love poems without songs of despair [1]
Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst, Bobby sad hours are open™, Established Relationship, Family Issues, Five Stages of Grief, Hanbin is a fashion designer student, Jiwon is a textile designer student, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Memories, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, Relationship Issues, ikons will make small appareances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-10-25 11:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzroya/pseuds/Fitzroya
Summary: Jiwon finds himself nodding, not in the mood for more, and it isn’t necessary either because there’s no turning back. Hanbin surely says something in response, but Jiwon is too self-absorbed to pay real attention to it.(Or in which Jiwon feels complete until he doesn't)





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheneedstherapy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheneedstherapy/gifts).



> Hello,  
> this is being a long term project I had since last march, also is been almost 6 years since I wrote something and this is the first time doing it in english.
> 
> I wrote this in my first language and then I translated it to english, so I want to thank my dear friend Ale who helped me with the translation, she had to work on it but this ff is a gift for her for being the best Bobby stan and one of the most beautiful persons ever, thanks for giving me your support and complains about the sad hours™ ! ! 
> 
> Also I want to thank y'all for giving this a try, it means a lot💖

 

 

 

> **XXI**  
>  We were walking through an abandoned square  
>  Fighting desperately in silence.  
>  I had to leave. I moved a hedge of old roses,  
>  While you, stopped next to a wall,  
>  You stared at me,  
>  Without daring to pronounce my name.  
>  (It would have been in vain.)  
>  I came to a house covered with ivies  
>  And I wandered around the rooms without thinking about anything.  
>  Fed by the hope that you would still wait for me, I came back,  
>  I crossed the door of a gate  
>  And drunk with hope, I looked towards the deserted street  
>  Trying to recognize you among the ruins.  
>  I looked towards the deserted streets  
>  And I found myself alone in the middle of the night.
> 
> — Nicanor Parra, _Ejercicios Respiratorios_ , 1943.

 

 

Jiwon feels complete.

 

 

 

He breathes, eyes closed against the sun that hits his face, bright, warm like summer day, his feet don’t move, barefoot against the rock that’s under him, hand that trembles slightly, ear that listens to the flow of water very close and Hanbin's nervousness even closer.

“Ready?” Hanbin's voice asks against the wind, suppressing the fright that makes his timbre tremble.

He opens his eyes and observe the scene, the bright day, the thousands of trees around him, different green tones, the dark blue lake below, the imposing rock in which the two of them are standing, hands joined in a loop that Jiwon hopes will never be separated, bathing suits as wet as their hair, eyes that share a look of reckless mischief.

“The one that has to be ready isn’t me.” He jokes and Hanbin gives him a broken smile, slightly embarrassed.

The jump is from several meters before entering the water and Jiwon would lie if he says that it doesn’t cause him a little distrust, but Hanbin's fingers, entwined with his own, tighten the grip that unites them, and the company is everything they need to be filled with courage.

“ _Let’s go,_ ” he murmurs softly, a touch full of support, before taking a step back, action that Hanbin imitates and the distance is just right to take enough flight before jumping into the void, hands that never take off from the grip, eyes that close forcefully before hitting the water, screams of stress release silenced by the force of their bodies as they enter the lake.

The water is nice, warm, silent, quiet. Jiwon sinks like a rock and feels that his feet aren’t going to hit the bottom at any moment, he remains calm and opens his eyes, grasping a slight impulse in the opposite direction, observing the aquatic panorama, the hidden flora and fauna, the shy beauty of the sun, rocks and fish around him. Everything is calm and idyllic until a hand grips him strongly, taking him away from the hidden paradise and guiding him towards a known paradise.

“How was it?” Hanbin asks when he brings him back to the surface, his hands wiping off the excess of water from his face and arranging his messy bangs. Jiwon feels the adrenaline confusing him a little and his fingers tremble more than usual, incapable of taking care of himself, he accepts being cared for.

"It could’ve been worse." He responds smiling, floating towards Hanbin's body like a magnet, letting himself be hugged and carried away, hiding his face in his boyfriend's neck for shelter, and if the water from the lake and the view from the bottom was pleasant and reassuring, the effect of the heat radiating from Hanbin's skin against his is thousand times better than that.

“Do you want to go to the shore?”

Jiwon listens to Hanbin but doesn’t look at him directly, arms clinging to the boy's neck, legs around his waist, he rests his full weight on him. "I'll go anywhere you want to take me," he murmurs, voice limited by the closeness.

“To heaven?” Hanbin jokes, hands going down to the elastic line of Jiwon's swimsuit, disinterestedly playing with the edge while slowly swimming backwards.

The comment makes him win a laugh back and Jiwon has to move away a little to not laugh directly into Hanbin’s ears and leave him deaf: “If you think you can, then I appreciate the offer.”

The smile drawn on Jiwon's eyes produces a change in Hanbin's face, something more sensual and dark, more intense but full of evident love as always, so he takes his hands to the side of Jiwon's face and kisses him, hungry and domineering, begging permission between grunts to explore his mouth with his tongue, gently biting Jiwon's lips to make his way and kiss him fully, feeling only the sweet taste of him and the water they’ve been swallowing in all the time they’ve been swimming there.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we take this to the tent?” Jiwon intervenes between kisses, moaning softly at the touch of their bodies that becomes difficult to control while floating in the water.

It's only a few meters to the lake shore and Hanbin swims them with evident speed, " _It's because you have a hidden intention!"_ Jiwon accuses him while acts like a deadweight to annoy him and Hanbin just smiles, full rosy cheeks by the sun and the love flush.

Although the idea was just to have a day of relaxation, Jiwon insisted on carrying a tent to lie, _"Are you going to be with me or to sleep with another background?"_ Hanbin asked before tossing it over his shoulder, asking only to be contrary, to which Jiwon replied that maybe he did want to sleep with another landscape in the background, but with Hanbin next to him.

“Best idea or best idea, uh?” Jiwon mentions after leaving the lake, wrapped in a towel to dry himself, determined to lie down inside the tent. After so much swimming it seems that the only heaven that he’ll go will be the one that belongs to Morpheus.

“Since you want me to accept that you were right in bringing it, I'm not going to say it just to not give you the pleasure.” Hanbin answers, lying next to him, without a towel and with his clothes and hair dripping, water droplets running through his body until forming small puddles at his side.

Jiwon opens the towel that covers him and takes one of Hanbin's hands guiding it to his waist, touch that steals his breath and makes him shudder, electric. Hanbin understands the intention and approaches him until their chests are only separated by few centimeters, legs so intertwined that they’re almost one.

“You can catch a cold.” Jiwon comments, just to say something, before seeing Hanbin so close to him that he disappears from his vision and becomes just a pair of dark orbs that reflect himself and what fills his view.

Hanbin’s cold hands embrace him with the same force as his lips kiss him. "I don’t think so." he replies between kisses, short breaths and deep, repressed voice. Jiwon smiles unconsciously, always pleased to produce such changes in the ever-calm face of Hanbin.

With a slight push on one of his shoulders, Jiwon moves Hanbin away from his space, stopping the caresses. The younger understands the action and takes distance, eyes that cool down and calm down their excitement, fire that goes off a bit to make room for curiosity.

"You're getting me wet," he explains and Hanbin has to bite his tongue to avoid making a joke about it, so he just throws a slight giggle that lights up his face completely.

And now it’s Jiwon who changes the intensity in his eyes, fixed on the features of the person who is in front of him, as if he wanted to remember every detail of Hanbin's face, every change that his lines of expression have when happiness hits him with the force of a thousand waves.

"Lie down," he orders and Hanbin obeys, not without laying one of his hands on Jiwon's thighs first, as if silently asking to be with him.

There was a time when they weren’t together, because they weren’t born knowing each other, obviously, but if they have memories of a time when they didn’t love each other, a time in which they weren’t together as those who exist to love each other, they always choose to forget them. In the world of Jiwon and Hanbin there’s no minute, there’s no second, in which they haven’t been drunk with love for each other.

Jiwon sees it as a blessing, to be here, knees resting close to the side of Hanbin's ribs, comfortably sitting on his abdomen, watching him from above, contemplating how the admiration is drawn in every movement of his boyfriend's body. He wonders if he looks at Hanbin in the same way that Hanbin looks at him, as if he was looking at the greatest wonder of the universe, as if in his hands he has the million dollar prize ticket, as if fullness was a person within reach.

For a couple of minutes they just keep quiet, enjoying being with each other, existing around the other, Jiwon is dedicated to admire what he has under him, as Hanbin, who out of his bubble is only orders, plans and determination, seems to melt and mold himself to the shape that Jiwon wants him to, and he isn’t different, although many times he wants to deny it, but Hanbin understands without needing words, as all the intensity and innate energy of Jiwon goes down only when they are both close, as it seems he becomes more docile with just a touch, more gentle with just a kiss.

It’s an intimate and emotional moment, one of those that Jiwon loves to ruin, that’s why, and not without smiling in amusement first, he adjusts himself over Hanbin until he is sitting on top of his crotch, rubbing slowly against him, producing the immediate reaction of two hands squeezing hard the sides of his waist.

Hanbin grunts, “How long did you wait to do that?”

“The same time you waited until I did it.”

If there ever was any annoyance in Hanbin's face (although Jiwon rather than annoyance would call it control, unwanted, but control, after all), it vanishes and becomes something that Jiwon doesn’t know what is, but leaves a pretty blush up to Hanbin's neck.

It takes only a few seconds until what starts as a couple of movements to annoy Hanbin becomes a symphony of complaints and muffled moans produced by Jiwon. He rides Hanbin with sufficient control over what he does and intentionally avoids giving him what he really wants.

“I told you that the tent was going to be useful to us.” He speaks to silence a moan that tries to escape from his throat, feeling how his erection begins to grow against the touch of Hanbin's.

Hanbin laughs softly, hands tightening against Jiwon's, waiting while he moves his hips in a pace that he has more than memorized.

“Are you telling me that this was your intention from the beginning?” Hanbin raises one eyebrow, amused, and guides one of his hands to Jiwon's bare chest, taking one of his nipples between his fingers, squeezing it with just the right amount of strength that he knows his boyfriend likes.

The action earns him a moan and Jiwon's dance over him becomes slightly erratic.

“You never know when it could be a nice day to have outdoor sex.” And the commentary beats a stronger pinch, now in the two nipples, making Jiwon deliciously arch his back, without stopping the more and more constant brush of their hard dicks, aching inside their clothes.

The image of Jiwon's tanned body, squirming with pleasure, open to accept any intention that the younger has, is enough to break Hanbin’s control over his own instincts, leaving Jiwon's chest unattended to, with one hand, hold him by his waist and with the another give him the impetus to change their positions, leaving Jiwon under him, hot skin and a slightly obscene glow, breathing hard and still rocking his hips looking for friction against Hanbin's body, impatient.

Hanbin smiles when he sees him full of desire and slides smoothly down into his body, leaving a path of kisses to reach his neck, sucking hard the perfect skin, while his hands guide Jiwon's legs open to give him a space between them.

"I'm yours." Jiwon murmurs, voice mixed with the sound of the wind and the water that falls near where they are, face rosy with so much excitement.

“And I'm yours too.” Hanbin responds against his lips, before taking him back in a hungry kiss while his hands appreciate his curves, caressing him delicately.

The need for physical contact at every moment and every place is just a way in which the love that they have for each other, that overwhelms them so much, that so desperately fills them, manifests itself like a force that lands on each of their limbs, making them impotent, unable to think on anything else than loving each other, be with each other, reassure each other.

“I know.”

Jiwon answers with security, because he doesn’t doubt it, not even for a second, because he knows, as a certain science, _he knows it_.

 

 

__________________________________

 

 

He doesn’t want to continue with the conversation they had yesterday and he’s sure that any word, emotion, action or speech that he tries to use against Hanbin's decision will not make sense, because they aren’t talking about viable possibilities or not, they’re talking about a reality, a little distant, but fulfilled and even palpable.

Jiwon finds himself nodding, not in the mood for more, and it isn’t necessary either because there’s no turning back. Hanbin surely says something in response, but Jiwon is too self-absorbed to pay real attention to it.

It seems to pass years in which only the wall clock sounds reverberates in the kitchen until the sound of the front door closing in the distance joins, leaving Jiwon alone in front of the two unfinished tea cups that lie on the table. Jiwon loses his energy and hope; however, he’ll be lying if he says that he didn’t expect the bad news.

 _"It's the cycle of life._ " He tries to convince himself while he watches his home with special attention. Inevitably, routine has absorbed him throughout the years of independence and his habit of rising and existing is what has prevented him from seeing that all those projects and ventures, whether successful or not, although they’re a central axis in his search for self-realization, are ephemeral as life itself and those who accompany us in it.

Jiwon sighs, looks at the cups in front of him and remembers how many plans he had for the day. The clock marks a little more than 9AM, and through the window he can see the gray clouds that announce that the sun has no intention of showing. A typical morning, and Jiwon, dressed and ready to start his chores, with his hair still wet from the shower, gets up from the table and walks to the shelter and protection of his room.

Honestly speaking, he has no intention of starting his day, because his breakfast was terrible and Jiwon doesn’t deserve it, not when he tries hard to work diligently every day of the damn week, either at work or at university. He doesn’t deserve to have his Saturday ruined so early in the morning, drinking his favorite tea, with a toast stuck in the throat and Hanbin choosing the worst time to communicate bad news.

He goes back to bed, feelings as tired as if it were one of those days when he’s so busy that he doesn’t even have time to breathe without someone needing him, and from the comfort of his soft pillow he observes the panorama outside the window: It’ll probably rain.

Jiwon doesn’t know how to feel yet, and completely ignoring all the emotions that swirl in his chest and press his lungs trying to drown him, in addition to all the responsibilities of his 23 years, convincing himself that the degree of textile designer can wait, he simply wishes that Hanbin remembered to carry an umbrella when he left earlier, before closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

 

The last day of summer, the pain of the slap that his father gave him, the happiness when he used the key of the house they rent for the first time, the pride he felt when he got admitted to university, the hand of his grandmother touching his hair, the voice of his friends congratulating him for his bravery, the pressure on his shoulders every time he felt the judging eyes in his house, the smell of wet soil and freedom every time the train stopped at the station, each memory is precious and important in Jiwon's mind, even if it isn’t a pleasant moment.

In his dreams he can recreate every moment of his life that’s relevant enough to deserve to be evoked from time to time, he can remember his hand clumsily stroking the dyes that lay on his grandmother's workshop table, the scraps of fabric freshly dyed, bright, colorful, important. In the place's silence, he can listen to the rain in the distance, the sound of firewood breaking through the fire inside the stove and it’s as if he was going to relive that trip from so many years ago:

A nine-year-old Jiwon closes his eyes gently and tries to capture the moment with all his senses. The colors of the fabrics dance behind his eyelids and the scarce voice of his grandmother pronouncing his name with more love than the one he’s used to resonates in his ears like a lullaby.

When he feels his heart clench, his little hand massages his chest for tranquility: Every year is the same, the eternal days until the first day of vacation, the nine-hour journey that seems eternal, eyes that look how the landscape changes from the city to the countryside, from the sun to the rain, from cement to wet earth and wet grass. Jiwon doesn’t fit inside himself, happiness consumes him when he realizes that he endured the life he hates to be here at this moment, in this place, for the next three months.

On his skin, the light that escapes between the leaves of the trees rests, his light complexion shines in an angelic form and around him everything is perfect, because the things that cost are those that we value the most, and he mutters under his breath, when he walks inside of his grandmother's greenhouse, surrounded by bright and dead colors, that no one will ever take him away from what he loves so much.

Jiwon is just a child, but he doesn’t breathe or eat, his only food is clinging to the positive longing as if it were the main reason that keeps him alive, and it may not be an exaggeration to say so, because he doesn’t need to be older to not repeat the mistakes of adults he knows, nor need more years to be sure of what he wants:

The house that his father forgot in that town from which he fled when he had the first opportunity, the flowers and fruits that he left to rot, the fabrics he didn’t dye in the river, the remnants he didn’t sew, the greenhouse he didn’t water, the people who he didn’t see again, the streets that changed without him being able to see them grow, the hands that wrinkled, clinging to the art they wanted to protect.

The mother who he abandoned.

But Jiwon will not make the same mistakes as everyone has done for centuries, because he’s different, because there’s no room for flaws in his plan, because he’s sure that if he sacrifices everything he has from the earliest age, it’ll come a moment in which everything he aspires to will not be only a mere dream but a palpable reality between his fingers.

He closes his eyes again and that perfect, bright, idyllic future seems real. His heart feels warm with joy, his throat itches a bit for the emotion, his eyes ask him to weep for the contained emotions, but something moves behind him, known and enchanting, and Jiwon blinks in surprise:

The dream vanishes in front of his pupils and becomes smoke.

“Were you sleeping?” The voice that sounds a bit wounded, speaks to his back, instantly bringing him back to the present. Jiwon glances awkwardly at his nightstand, the alarm clock, that lies next to a poetry anthology that Hanbin didn’t finish reading, announces the time and he blinks quickly again, brightening up. He spent almost an hour lying around wasting his time.

“No,” he replies and it sounds like a truth, but whoever that accompanies him isn’t completely convinced and his fingertips touch him gently, almost without really doing it, as fearing that he’ll break, as if he saw the future of an outburst that it’ll effectively happen. “I just dozed.”

There’s a slight humming sound on his back, and Jiwon feels more tired than when he went back to bed an hour ago.

“Did you dream about someone?” The question is soft, mixed with the cold of the day and the cloudy sky that’s revealed behind the large window of his room. Jiwon resists the desire to attach his body to Hanbin’s warm hands and he feels brave for a second before opening his mouth.

“About you.”

There is no reason to lie, but he does it anyway, and when Hanbin makes a move to increase his grip to, perhaps, turn him from his position and speak looking into his eyes, promising him the security he needs at this moment, Jiwon acts as if he was made of lead, shrinking into himself, and even moving a little away from the body that accompanies him, to avoid any contact that, over his clothes, burns against his skin.

“Was it a nightmare?” Hanbin tries and his voice is a strange mix of melancholy and laughter.

Jiwon has two options, but chooses the third:

"Dreaming of you is always a nightmare." He replies, evading and lightening the mood with a joke. A smile adorns his face when he turns to look at Hanbin, face to face, still keeping a space to not touch him, and the younger knows he lost the battle before he even knew he was fighting against something, because Jiwon isn’t going to say anything he doesn’t want to share out loud.

Hanbin's lips close in a soft grimace of disbelief, but he chooses not to insist on the subject and swallow the bitter taste that the lie leaves on his tongue. He’ll not win, not against Jiwon, who walks away being so close, who smiles with opaque eyes, who loses the valuable work time that he loves so much by going to sleep in the middle of the day.

It's complicated, Jiwon doesn’t want to be, but he can’t avoid it.

The centimeters that separate them in the bed, lying face to face, seem new and more uncomfortable than usual. As if no one wants to give up, Hanbin tries again, stretching out slowly to reach the one who has always been close, and Jiwon also tries not to melt and endure, to keep enduring and endure more.

"Everything is going to be alright." Hanbin says, from the bottom of his huge heart, and keeps his hand to himself, because there’s no one to take it. Jiwon, on the other hand, wants to smile and say yes, but saying it makes it seem the opposite, so he just keeps silent and closes his eyes again.

The house, the town, the fabrics, the river, the fruits, the flowers, the colors, the light, the rain, the ideal future with which he dreamed slipped between his fingers before he could cling to it, and it isn’t worth to stay awake now, not when the memories are in his mind, sealed in the darkness of his eyelids.

The sound of Hanbin leaving the room is the last thing that fills Jiwon’s ears before trying to sleep again.

 

 

__________________________________

 

 

He sighs and the ignition is his greatest work, the one that destroys completely and disappears in the wind, the one that makes memories become a past with such drive, passion and power that it’s inevitable not to succumb to the heat that’s strange to his body, that isn’t born from his fingertips nor it’s the same burning that runs through his skin, but eliminates with the same force of the repulsion that swirls inside his body and burns every fiber of peace in his flesh to turn his blood in poison and his entrails in demons.

"I'm fine," he says on the phone and he sounds rougher than he'd like.

There’s a voice on the other side, but Jiwon doesn’t listen to it very well, although after so many years listening to the same sermon it doesn’t matter that much. His sight becomes blurred with the heat of the impromptu bonfire in front of him, his face is tempered, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the fire sparkles that shine near his eyes or if it’s because of everything he feels at the moment.

Jiwon suppresses his emotions as if he earns a living from it, he’ll not deny that he wants to scream and cry, that his fingers ache with desire to hit something; however, his emotions are lived in silence, with the phone in one hand and loneliness in another. He tries to detach himself from the memory and the desire, to forget everything that burns to cancel it out of his mind and undo everything that’ no longer useful or worth remembering. When the heat no longer serves to glue the pieces of his being, he trusts that time will help to heal the wounds that he wears at the surface of his skin.

"I said I'm fine." He repeats, because he hears his mother's voice again. She speaks to him with a concern that it made him sick to his stomach, because he doesn’t want cries or laments, he doesn’t deserve them, he doesn’t have to receive them.

Jiwon looks at the sky, patiently waiting for the light to go out, for the sun to hide behind the mountains and the city to be shrouded in gloom. The fire in front of him slowly begins to decrease and turn into ash, Jiwon simply observes him in silence while repeating to himself that he must love those who don’t love us and respect the paternal figures, even when sometimes we don’t have enough patience to do it.

_“I think it's a good opportunity for you to rethink if you want to continue living there.”_

First, he laughs, more ironic than he should, then he rolls his eyes so hard that he feels like they’re going to come out. “Mom, did you call me for this? To tell me to go back to live with you after everything I did to be here?”

There’s a silence on the telephone line.

“Y’know that what you're asking me doesn’t make any sense and even if you want it a lot, or if I want to go back a lot, there’s someone there who doesn’t want to see me near home.”

People, emotions, actions, everything leaves ghosts that live in our body as a signature that ensures their existence, Jiwon knows that there are things that aren’t eternal but the memories are strong enough to keep him sure of his decision.

_“What you want doesn’t exist anymore, Jiwon.”_

The fire returns to revive itself and Jiwon feels an enormous desire to throw the phone to the fire; however, he contains and tries to cut the call in the most respectful way possible, controlling his exasperation, because his mother loves him, no matter what happened, regardless of whether they see each other often or not, regardless of whether she always takes his father's part or that his father always sends her to try to convince Jiwon to return home.

"Everything will be fine." He mutters to himself again, as a mantra or a battle cry, in the solitude of the forest, under the dark clouds that announce the rain. Jiwon doesn’t want to give up, not after so much time fighting for things to work out.

But saying it makes it seem the opposite.

 

 

__________________________________

 

 

The hand that clings to his clasps his fingers and Jiwon laughs softly.

“Are you cold?” He asks, opening his eyes, and the panorama of a leafy forest in front of him takes years of tension off of his back.

“No.” Hanbin responds to his side, pressing his hand stronger. There’s something that dies in his mouth before emitting another sound and Jiwon doesn’t insist, he prefers to think that the grip is because Hanbin is afraid of the fish that pass near his feet in the river, which is quite probable. Truthfully.

Silence.

It isn’t unpleasant or uncomfortable, and they can probably hear the other's mind working hard not to ruin the moment, but it’s all in order not to destroy the delicate veil of peace that covers them and that lately is the exception to the rule.

“I can’t dye the cloth if you hold my hand.” Jiwon mentions and in his voice there is softness that counteracts with the igneous touch of his fingers. His mouth pronounces it, words create meanings in his mind, but he makes no gesture to move.

Jiwon stays in his place: Pants rolled up to his knees, river water up to his calves, shirt rolled up, sprinkled with natural dyeing, one hand holding a cloth cloak waiting to change its color with the exposure to water, the other hand holding Hanbin’s elevates and brings him to the ground at the same time, clings him to the life that’s here and not behind his eyelids.

Hanbin doesn’t react, just observes, and there’s no fully defined expression on his face. Jiwon hesitates a little, the atmosphere changes and a chill goes down his back: He doesn’t insist, doesn’t press, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t bother. Waits.

The temperature drops.

His eyes don’t close, reality calls him to be attentive to what’s happening, and he doesn’t remember the last time that his attention was completely in the present and not in the yesterday. Hanbin, the best student and future star of the fashion design class, is there, wetting his designer pants in the river, forgetting his jacket on the muddy lawn, with his tie untidy, his brown hair all messy and his white shirt so stained that it matches with Jiwon’s.

Hanbin's dark eyes shine as they reflect the daylight, contemplating his next move, but it seems that patience escapes faster and faster through his pores and his hand moves quick against the one that Jiwon uses to hold the raw cloth; however, his direction changes at the last moment and the one who’s in front of him can’t avoid the touch of the palm that ends up resting against one of his cheeks, soft.

Jiwon swallows.

The temperature goes up.

"Don’t dye it." Hanbin says after a while and the sound seems to come from his stomach like the snarl of an annoyed animal, as if they were children again and Hanbin was repeating for the umpteenth time what he wants Jiwon to do.

There’s a trace of fatigue in Jiwon's body that’s only related to the infinite struggle of forces within him that have different interests. It’s not the best idea to fall again, it’s not smart to ignore that there’s a problem that may never be solved, it’s not advisable to retrace the progress to act as if it never happened. The problem is there, the contrariety is real; nevertheless, Jiwon just wants to surrender.

" _Everything is fine_." He tries to convince himself when he drops the fabric on a rock where his work materials are, he omits that his grandmother will not be happy if he doesn’t advance with the orders of the week and cancels the alarm that sounds in his head and yells that there’s time to retreat and run.

But how would he run? How would he escape? How would he let go of the hand that squeeze his own as if it was a lifesaver? How would he move the caress on his face that stokes ghosts of pasts adulations?

Jiwon melts under the touch of Hanbin's warm skin as he has done since he has a memory and sighs as one who finally satisfies his abstinence. His eyes settle on the others’, but Hanbin is only aware of what Jiwon's lips transmit silently, like a lion waiting for its prey, counting the seconds in his mind before taking the next step in order to not make a wrong move.

“Is there something on my face?” Jiwon asks in a tone that mixes shyness and mockery, and his eyes don’t leave the ones they have in front. He no longer remembers where he is, what time it is, if he has hands or feet, all he needs to know is what is drawn on Hanbin's face.

Hanbin approaches without uttering a word, blocks his visual field, and the kiss takes him by surprise. It has the taste of lavender tea, peppermint pills, stress and probably late nights, but it’s warm and comforting, it’s known and years ago it stopped being nervous. Their lips recognize, they have taken the same steps millions of times, they would distinguish themselves in any place, they would miss being with each other.

The Jiwon’s unoccupied hand travels to Hanbin's hair and caresses it behind his neck, entangles his fingers in his brown threads, plays with the skin that hides under his haircut, harmonizes his movements with those that come from the body that mixes with his. His heart is filled with longing and his chest feels pressured, he's breathless, but every time he feels closer to death, Hanbin's hand against his cheek calls him back to life.

When the kiss is cut off, they look at each other but don’t say anything. Jiwon doesn’t ask why Hanbin has been so tense lately, he doesn’t ask what’s making him so restless. Hanbin doesn’t ask why Jiwon didn’t avoid the kiss as he has been doing for the past few weeks or why he succumbed now after so much time. There’s a truce because they miss each other so they squeeze their hands tightly, remembering that they’re still together, breathing the same air, living the same moment.

“Summer.” Hanbin pronounces to the nothingness, when his sight is lost in the trees that began to change their color, in the last leaves that fall dead, in the sun that doesn’t heat.

Jiwon doesn’t understand. “What about the summer?”

The grip on his hands is released, the cold returns, the temperature goes down, the warmth escapes from his skin, reason and logic return, the good and the bad, the duty and the must be. Jiwon regrets the kiss, takes a step back, Hanbin understands and smiles a little, broken.

“In your face, that's what there is.”

 

Today is the first day of winter.

 

 

__________________________________

 

 

Going home after a day of hard textile work in the university and in her grandmother's workshop should be a pride for Jiwon, who fought against the family's expectation to be there, dedicating his life to craft work and to be able to rescue the art that his grandmother has tried to not lose; however, with hands and clothes dyed, ordering the last few meters of fabric to deliver to the usual customers, between boxes and boxes of ready orders and scraps that still serve for something else, Jiwon doesn’t feel as well as he should.

It's like something is missing.

Looking around the room that he uses to work at home, he remembers that he has already checked the copy of the list of daily work and even weekly to make sure that everything’s fine, but it isn't only that, the work is even advanced. He left the flowers and fruits to dry for the designs and colors, cleaned the stamps and molds, turned off the pots where he had boiling cloths, paid the postman, has the month's wages ready and has already hired a new delivery man.

But he stills feels like something— A bark.

The sound brings him back from his thoughts, from the lists, responsibilities and boards, he winces a bit to know that something is forgotten and finally remembers: He hasn’t given food to Obang, the dog Hanbin bought to fill Jiwon's void after the cat he raised with his grandmother died of poisoning, and he remembers that at that time he insisted he didn’t want a dog, nor a cat, he wanted nothing, only Yeobo back, but Hanbin needed an excuse to have a dog and this was a perfect one, at the perfect time.

And now Jiwon is tied to him and he's tied to Jiwon.

"I’m sorry." He says to the little animal that sits near his study table, looking at him intently, as if he could understand him, and finishes ordering the latest draft orders and projects for the university before putting them in his backpack. He exits the place, walking toward the kitchen, feeling the breeze slipping through the windows, fragrant flowers filling his senses, until he’s in front of Obang’s food plate that’s always inside of the house to prevent fights to the death with the birds that come to eat his food when they leave the plate in the yard.

When he arrives at his destination, his eyes first notice that in the countertops there are some things that are not in their correct position, that the doors of some furniture are badly closed, that there is an unwashed fork in the dishwasher and that the food plate of Obang is full.

Jiwon looks at the dog, snorting, and Obang looks back with his tongue out and expression of affection, approaching to his plate to prepare to eat now that there’s someone to accompany him and is something he usually does with Hanbin, who’s now too busy to take care of his own dog, _although that's another matter_ , now that he remembers better, it was he who came to prepare food, a couple of hours ago, since it was the first thing he did when he got home. He just does not remember making a mess in the kitchen or leaving unwashed cutlery in the sink.

There’s something that’s missing.

Jiwon, from his position, walks a few steps towards the entrance of the house, and the scene takes him out of the denial in which he has been immersed for days, remembering why things are missing and why, having everything he always dreamed of and worked tirelessly for, he still feels empty:

There are moving boxes.

The realization hits him dry and he needs to sit on the floor, because he has been too focused on his spiral of self-pity that he didn’t realize that the world kept moving forward, that while he dedicated himself to having his eyelids closed, evoking memories of times past, of better times, the people living around them continued their lives with normality, followed their dreams, progressed to something better.

And he supposes that the situation should produce some kind of divine illumination and change in 180º, although honestly the only thing he feels is an infinite desire to sleep and never rise again, which multiplies by a hundred when his phone starts to vibrate, inside his pocket, to then hear the sound of Hanbin's voice singing a song that he dedicated to Jiwon years ago in an audio note, melody that resonates throughout the place:

 _“You’re still beautiful, even just looking at you_  
_You’re still beautiful, even though I start growing an unreasonable greed,_  
_I don’t want to burden you, I don’t want much_  
_Please allow my timid intrusion_  
_I want you to listen this song,_  
_I realized that I couldn’t fall asleep since that moment of encounter,_  
_I reached out my hand to you after making up my mind with much determination,_  
_But I don’t want you to push me away too harshly”*_

He stops the song when it becomes too personal and ignores how Obang reacts to the sound of Hanbin's voice, blocking the call and quickly removing the battery from his cell phone, creating a mental note in his head to remember to not turn it on in the next days.

 _"This isn’t right."_ He thinks, he accepts, but he doesn’t check any boxes other than with a look, belongings kept with evident care, so he decides to simply move away, rising from his position when he sees that his dog finished eating and walks to his room with him following him from behind, searching in bed for the comfort that both of them are lacking.

Anyway, Hanbin can’t take more things than he already took, Jiwon thinks, because everything else that remains in the house, including him and Obang, are part of _the forgotten._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *= Hanbin's unreleased song Demo/You're still as beautiful
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it !  
> You can always leave me a comment here to complain about this,  
> take care and see you later in the next chapter ! 💖


	2. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there ! Sorry for the wait? Thanks for still giving this a try? 
> 
> Thanks to my lovely friend Ale to help me with this, I promise I'll pay your kindness with money one day💖✊
> 
> That being said, there's still no need for warnings so, please enjoy the ride ! !

The bell announces the years of mandatory torture are over forever and Jiwon isn't sure if what he feels is happiness or strangeness. The end of the day leaves him a little stupefied, prevents him from moving from his seat and starting to pack his belongings as his classmates have excitedly done. He isn't sure either if what is happening around him is real or if it's another one of those dreams of daily life that he usually has when he falls asleep thinking that he should get up early in the morning. So to make sure he pinches his arm: There aren't many people left in the room but he’s still there, although not completely convinced. He still thinks that it’s just a too realistic dream, with more details than he’s used to, with faces that aren't just shadows without form, with relief and depth, with sounds and fragrances.

Jiwon is sure that these are only his imagination.  
  
The way out of high school feels eternal, the open gate awaits him as if it were an exit to reality, like a triumphal arch that took years to arrive but is there, more palpable than ever, so much so that Jiwon can’t convince himself yet, because in the moment he makes his last step in the place and the first step out of it, his school time will be automatically finished.  
  
And that’s something a bit sad to think.  
  
“Jiwon.” He hears a voice and the dark thoughts that attack his mind are immediately vanished by the light of the warm tone that calls him, that has called him so many times, that shouts for him, longs for him, sings to him.  
  
He turns on his feet quickly thanks to the emotion of recognition, his eyes are directed to one of the many trees that lie in front of the exit gate, adorned next to flowers and vines, where a young man with brown hair and school uniform awaits him with an expression that mixes happiness and melancholy. Verifying where the figure is and moving towards it, Jiwon is now convinced the day is real, he’s living here and now, he grew up more than he can control and that indeed is what scares him completely, but he isn’t alone in that.  
  
He isn’t alone when he crosses the door that symbolizes he finished high school, he isn’t alone when he takes the first step to his freedom.

 _He isn’t alone._  
  
“Hanbin,” Jiwon says when he stops under a tree and can see up close the smile of the person waiting for him. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“I came for you.” He replies as if it wasn’t a big thing, but he didn’t need to be a fortune-teller to know how Jiwon's heart expands until occupy every space of his body. Especially because Jiwon can’t lie and the smile of gratitude that’s drawn on his face is enough to make him understand all those raw feelings he express openly .  
  
"I didn’t tell you that today was my last day." He tries, but he knows he didn’t need to mention it. Probably his grandmother told Hanbin, he heard it from some of the gossiping ladies who always meet in the neighborhood park, or he simply assumed it because there aren’t many high schools in the area. Jiwon honestly doesn’t care about how he knew it though, it’s enough to have Hanbin there, knowing that his schedule is always occupied since he entered the best school in the area but that, even with it, he took the time to go and look for him in the middle of the day, to wait until he was ready, to accompany him in that day.  
  
His chest hurts a bit thinking about it.  
  
"I was going to know it anyway." Hanbin laughs softly and takes one of Jiwon's hands, the one closest to him, and intertwines it with his own.  
  
Jiwon feels that he’s losing air for a moment: He falls silent.  
  
“Let's go?” The younger questions as he gently pulls his hand, as if to get his attention, waiting for Jiwon's bright dark eyes to look directly at him for the first time since they started talking and to respond with the same firmness as always.  
  
“Where?” He inquires and Hanbin feels like how the other melts with the touch, how his heart stops and beats again with force, how he looks at him only furtively and just for a couple of seconds, and it’s difficult to control the impulse to take Jiwon completely right there, right now.  
  
Hanbin lets out a laugh that sounds more muffled than he would like: "Home, they're waiting for you.”  
  
Jiwon wants to ask, but he isn’t sure if he wants to know the answer, he doesn’t know if he's ready to listen to what he supposes is an irrefutable truth, so he doesn’t insist more in the subject and leaves it as a pending question for later, noted on his to-do list, next to " _start walking and not being home late_ ".  
  
And it's as if Hanbin reads everything he thinks or feels, because he looks at him in silence and begins to walk without saying anything else, letting Jiwon contemplate and analyze everything around him with full freedom because he knows it's a complicated day and giving him a little space, even if it’s just a little, at least while they walk back home, doesn’t do him any harm.  
  
The road is the same as always, it has been the same one for the last two years since he moved permanently to the town to live with his grandmother, abandoning his city life; however, today feels different, as if everything is shining in a more special way than usual. People passing by smile, the sky shines dazzlingly, the gentle wind sways the trees simulating sounds of rain, the grass has an intense green that warns they’re in the middle of summer, and Jiwon feels that the distances are longer, that their steps are slower, that Hanbin walks closer and closer, that his house is getting farther and farther away.  
  
Love suffocates him, overwhelms him _, but it feels so good._  
  
Jiwon counts the minutes in his mind, in silence, as he watches the landscape changing in front of his eyes, and the urban area begins to become rural until the asphalt ends and the streets become a mixture of dust and stone. He’s nervous and he knows that Hanbin realizes that, because he hasn’t said anything in the whole walk but every so often -3.5 minutes to be exact, Jiwon has counted them- Hanbin caresses the back of his hand as if trying to fill him with peace.  
  
(Hanbin is a lot of things, many of them are the opposite of tranquility; they’re demand, hard work, obsession, dominance, leadership, courage, passion, emotionality, harshness, however, at the end of the day, when Jiwon tries to do the maths, Hanbin always ends up being calmness)  
  
There’s a crossroad that Jiwon knows very well because the two roads lead to his house, but one is longer than the other, one walks along the riverbank and the forest that accompanies it, one is Hanbin's favorite choice when they’re late and end up always arriving even later.  
  
“I thought my grandmother didn’t want us to be late.” Jiwon mentions when they take the long way, although he doesn’t make a move to go back and choose the other one.  
  
Hanbin raises an eyebrow with surprise, “I never said that your grandmother was waiting.”  
  
“Who else would?”, Jiwon laughs, without hidden feelings, but it sounds drier than it should be.  
  
There’s no answer and Hanbin's step hurries, his hand grips him stronger, his skin gets hot and Jiwon thinks he can even hear the beat of his heart in revolution as they walk, almost jogging, towards the place where Jiwon always dye fabrics and Hanbin accompanies him giving him moral support from a comfortable position.  
  
“We had never walked holding hands before,” Jiwon begins when they arrive at their destination, halfway back home, while leaving his bag under a tree near the shore and removes his shoes with the intention of entering the river. “At least not in public and so early.”  
  
Hanbin also takes off his shoes and sits on the river bank, on the usual rock.  
  
“Today is a special day, I suppose.”  
  
There’s no answer but a smile that Hanbin doesn’t see but hear.  
  
Jiwon has tried to avoid thinking about it all morning, all day, all last night while he couldn’t sleep; however, at this moment he can’t evade it and gets drunk on family abandonment, personal drama and obvious disappointment.  
  
"Tell me." He asks as he walks inside the river to the rock where Hanbin is and sits next to him, contemplative. "Didn’t they come?"  
  
Hanbin wants to lie, but he knows he wouldn’t get anything out of it, so he simply throws the truth as if it were his best weapon against the vain illusion, knowing that it’s the minimum that Jiwon deserves: “No, they didn’t come.”  
  
A part of Jiwon isn’t surprised, because in the two years he has lived in the village, he has seen his mother and the face of complete disappointment of his father only a couple of times, only when it has been strictly necessary and never for loving what they were or could be, it’s more for the prevailing need for their son to leave the blind state in which he finds himself and return to his five senses, to study in the city and also to apologize for the bad time he made them live; however, the other part of Jiwon, the one that knows it’s stupid to wait for a reunion, still had the small hope that his parents’ hearts, who seem to renege on all the decisions he has made in his life, would soften a little at the day of his graduation and they would come to visit him.  
  
He supposes, and he knows his assumption is right, that the fact that his youngest son decided to go to a lost small town miles away from home to dedicate himself to be a textile craftsman and not to continue with the path of an office worker enslaved and dissatisfied with his life isn’t something so easy to forgive.  
  
He shouldn’t expect anything, but even if he doesn’t want it, there’s a void, _there’s always a void_.  
  
"I'd like to give you the whole world." Hanbin says after a few minutes, looking down at the water and placing his hand on Jiwon's thigh as a sign of company, of containment, of love.  
  
"I don’t need the whole world," He replies with a mischievous tone and feels that it’s true, because he believes that at some point he had it; nevertheless, that world that was given to him as a gift at birth, that although it was never one of abundance and eternal prosperity, it was one of containment and support, but only for what his family decided was worth supporting, wasn’t enough. “I’m happy with what I have now." He adds, taking the other's hand in his, caressing Hanbin gently, as if giving him the comfort he’s supposed to be receiving.  
  
"Even so," Hanbin insists and he releases his hand from Jiwon's grip, hiding them in the pocket of his pants. "And if you ever leave and miss me, I want to give you something to make you come back."  
  
Jiwon laughs, nervous, and his deep, alight eyes lay, finally, on Hanbin's: "What are you talking about?"  
  
The response that he expects, a verbal one, never arrives. Hanbin prefers to act and takes Jiwon's hand again, specifically the left, letting it rest on one of his own while with the other he takes out of his pocket something that looks like a bright golden circle that makes the older so surprised he opens his eyes in such a way they seem to be coming out of their sockets.  
  
“What are you doing?” He asks again between nervous laughters, and he knows he’s being annoying, that he should shut up and let Hanbin do whatever he has planned to do but he can’t help it, not with that scene in front of him.  
  
"Not letting you go." Hanbin finally says, looking directly into his boyfriend eyes as he slides the slender ring on one of Jiwon's fingers, until he’s able to put it in the right position.  
  
It’s a day of happiness but Jiwon feels a little sad and his eyes that shine like the sun try to hold back the tears but it’s inevitable, and a small rain floods his eyes, shy and transparent drips slide down his dark lashes and fall on his face. Even though he’s crying, he’s also smiling funnily, drowned by the tumult of emotions in such a short period of time. The ring that lies on the ring finger of his left hand makes him laugh, makes him laugh as he can only do when he’s with Hanbin, with his lips parting to give way to his rabbit smile and his eyes disappearing to form two half moons.  
  
It's simple, it's a golden band, but it's stronger than a simple symbolism.  
  
That day they dance holding hands, turning on their own axes while laughing with happiness and shyness, imagining millions of futures filled with love, swearing to buy the house surrounded by hydrangeas that’s next to the lake where they always go swimming, living with cats and multi-colored plants, aging together, loving each other forever. And obviously they get home late.

 

  
Jiwon wakes up; he has been dreaming with Hanbin for days, so much so that he seems not to rest when he does. He looks at the alarm clock that lies on the nightstand, next to the pile of books that Hanbin deliberately left there, and it's less than five in the morning.  
  
His day begins with the ring finger of his left hand feeling empty.  

 

 

__________________________________

 

 

The rumor about his intellectual capacity is something he has never thought about a lot, it doesn’t interest him much, doesn’t " _make him lose sleep_ ". About that, Jiwon considers himself simply an object of interest, victim of the inevitable envy, son of the culture of gossip, that’s why he doesn’t understand why he feels so particularly annoyed with the person in front of him who, with a loud voice, has dedicated the last fifteen minutes, timed, to talk about how easy it’s his university career and that he knows (y _es, he knows it!_ ) that Jiwon is lost in this rural town because he couldn’t with the exigencies of the capital.  
  
Awesome.  
  
The atmosphere is so tense that it could be cut with butter knife, and he wants to believe that he’s still smiling after the speech that seems to never end; nevertheless, the slight nervousness in the traces of his classmate seated beside him on his notebook, makes him think that, perhaps, the annoyance is reflected in his face.  
  
“Jiwon,” His classmate starts after a while, when the subject is over but the aforementioned doesn’t return to draw sketches in his notebook. “Don’t you want to go out for a moment to take a breath?” He asks as Jiwon, next to him, breathes hard and tries to calm down. His eyesight isn’t softened in the least, it’s likely that he even has a worse look; however, the young man only smiles at him with the best intentions when he notices him a bit worried and runs his chair, giving him enough space in the corridor to pass towards the exit and breathe.  
  
Jiwon notes that no one else has noticed the problem and that the guy who went to ruin his study session in the library is already busy gossiping about another person, which calms him and gives him pity at the same time. “I suppose I should” He mumbles lively, forcing a smile to stop affecting the mood.  
  
There’s a giggle that sounds truer than it really is while Jiwon arranges his things on the table and places them in front of his chair, so that it’s easily understood that the seat is taken. He doesn’t want to go out to the university yard because winter came with more force than it should, and the whole region became a big pool of water, but he also doesn’t want to remain locked in that evil library with a random dude disqualifying him out loud and Hanbin looking sideways from the table next to him.

Yes, just as Hanbin realized the problem, Jiwon realized that Hanbin noticed.  
  
"Stupid fashion designers" He thinks to himself, taking his wallet out of his backpack and putting it in his pocket, already determined to leave.  
  
Hanbin doesn’t say anything, obviously, he wouldn’t have to do it. He wouldn’t have to follow him to the exit or wait for Jiwon to ask for his help to relax, not even to have a shoulder to cry on because the world is unfair and bad. Of course not, he isn’t in the mood to endure inquisitives or glances of pity, especially if they come from Hanbin, so he decides to just ignore him and pass by, walk out and stay there until frozen or until everyone leaves the library, whichever comes first.  
  
To say that it rains as if the sky is falling apart is an understatement.  
  
The road to a coffee vending machine isn’t long but it’s wet, and rather than wet, flooded is the right word; however, Jiwon enjoys it, and that instantly improves his face, even daring to smile from time to time evoking memories of his childhood in the village, with the petrichor smell and firewood.  
  
His hand warms up when he receives the hot cup of coffee freshly served by the machine, he holds it carefully until he feels his fingers again and looks for a bench under a roof to sit on and, ideally, to clear his mind up.  
  
At times like this, Hanbin would calm him down with a nervous but warm hand on his back and worried eyes under his messy fringe, Jiwon would feel small and melt like ice in the sun, like someone looking at the brightest star squarely. The height that distanced them years ago would now unite them, they would look at each other, detained in time, without leaving spaces between their bodies, and they wouldn’t know where one begins and the other starts.  
  
He frowns.  
  
" _Stop thinking about that_ " He reminds himself, breaking his own circle of self-destruction, concentrating on the here and now, on the steam that dances out of his lips, in the courtyard of the university that turned into a lake, into the small metal roof that shelters him from the rain, in his wet shoulders, in the mud in his sneakers, in his cold red nose, in his hands dry, icy, alone.  
  
The barrier that Jiwon has built against the world that tries to destroy his dreams and his victorious soul is so high that nobody even thinks about jumping it, many don’t even realize that it actually exists, others think it's better to let him hide everything he needs to feel safer; however, there are always exceptions to the rule and before his mind shouts " _Hanbin_ " again, one of his hands hurries and pulls out his phone, as a distraction from the distraction, unlocking the pattern quickly and pressing his favorite contact to make a call.  
  
The busy tone sounds almost instantly.  
  
Jiwon tries another time.  
  
The tone sounds again.  
  
Jiwon's laughter is bleak and he brings his hands to his face, leaving the cup of coffee on the floor, gently massaging his temples and trying to remove the tension he feels in his head. It’s ironic that he went out to try to calm down but now he feels more upset because his grandmother didn’t answer the phone.  
  
He tries for the third time.  
  
Third time isn't a charm.  
  
He breathes.  
  
It probably is because lately he has made a lot of mistakes in the workshop, which isn’t minor and that in no way he tries to excuse, but he’s exhausted, his college mates are disgusting, he doesn’t remember the last time he saw his friends, the color hues of color theories are becoming more complicated and the river is so cold that it’s a martyrdom to go and dye clothes.  
  
Is it too much to ask to get his miserable call answered to, at least, listen to a voice that isn’t his?  
  
His grandmother is a strict woman of rules and order. She likes things well done as everyone, and from Jiwon she always expects more than anyone, perhaps because she couldn’t expect anything from her own children or because Jiwon is the closest thing she has to an apprentice, apart from all the women who also work with her in the workshop, but before a craftsman, Jiwon is her grandson, the closest she has, he has to add and, honestly, no mistake can be so serious as to ignore him for days.  
  
He tries the last time:  
  
_"We’re sorry, the number you’ve dialed is unavailable"_

 

 

__________________________________

 

 

A folder falls on his desk and Jiwon sighs, because the week has been a real _shit_ but this is definitely the icing on the cake, just thinking about it makes him feel a headache, closer to a chronic migraine than a mere temporary discomfort, set behind his eyes thanks to the mixture of exasperation and displeasure.  
  
He stops what he’s doing only for a second to test possibilities. The workshop is already closed, and the ladies, together with his grandmother, left hours ago, the work of which he’s responsible is far from over, although it’s more for his ineptitude than because of the difficulty, and this doesn’t improve the outlook at all.  
  
Maybe it's not his day, not his week, not his month, not his year, _not his life._  
  
“What’s this?” He asks without looking and his voice is pure exasperation.  
  
“Papers.”  
  
Jiwon thinks that he doesn’t hate many things in the world, because it’s not within his principles to go hating everything that passes in front of him, but the lawyers, _oh the stupid lawyers._  
  
“What kind of papers?” He insists again, with less patience and less encouragement to raise his eyes and hands from the boxes he’s preparing to send to the town's tailor.  
  
“We need you to sign them.”  
  
When the lawyer speaks in the plural Jiwon always feels that a bile of hate goes up his throat and that, as a prudent member of this society, he should bite his tongue to avoid throwing a poisonous comment.  
  
He multiplies in his mind, remembers poems from Hanbin's spanish class, thinks of the instructions for making instant ramen, counts the steps from his home to the bus stop or in how many stations the train stops before arriving at the university, all to prevent the glass of discomfort in his head from overflowing and destroying everything.  
  
_Patience, patience._  
  
There are so many things he wants to answer, especially because he hates the fact that the lawyer who works with his father lets them use him as a free messenger; however, he abstains and even quits his job to turn around and see his face before speaking:  
  
“Is there anything I should know before reading them?”  
  
The question is simple but deeper than it seems, Jiwon knows the man who’s in front of him since he has memory, from before he grew up so old, from before they were on opposite sides, from before they were deadly enemies who visit each other a couple of times a year waiting for his opponent to die and stop arguing.  
  
“What do you mean?” He replies, serious and lifeless as always, and Jiwon feels he can see the gray hair growing between his dark hair, a victim of stress.  
  
Jiwon opens the envelope and carefully removes the papers, scattering them across the table, although they are all similar, there are two that immediately attract his attention, one that says "Testament" and the other that says "Renunciation of inheritance", he doesn’t even reads them before letting out a mocking smile and looks at the lawyer, settling back in his chair.  
  
“I give you the option to explain what y’all want before I draw my own conclusions.”  
  
The lawyer almost laughs, almost: “I think any conclusion you've drawn is correct,” He mentions and sits in front of Jiwon, his body seems to be the definition of fatigue. “So just sign.”  
  
Even with all the problems he has with his father's lawyer, with his father and with the papers, Jiwon is in a very advantageous position; however, his options carry certain consequences that may be more complicated than the problem itself. Living with his grandmother has been a dream come true, but always subject to certain requirements, and even if he draw his own empire in his mind, all he has is and will remain as an ethereal illusion hanging from a delicate thread, that’s why Jiwon sometimes sees himself in situations like this, where he has to choose what he wants or what convenies him.  
  
He must accept that he likes to annoy the lawyer every time he has to travel for hours only to have him sign a couple of pages full of words that Jiwon often doesn’t bother to read, because the breaking of the relationship with his father no longer hurts like before, many times he is only accepting any tyranny that he comes up with just to avoid bothering his mother. It's funny that, although his father has made sure to make it clear, the day he decided to leave his house, that the moment he stepped out of the place he would be left without family forever, he’s also the one who dedicates himself, from time to time, to send someone with papers only to annoy him.  
  
Generally he doesn’t have a right disposition for this type of things, he prefers to ignore the discussion and to pander them, many times for the peace of his grandmother or his mother, but something is different this time and although probably the fight is lost before it actually began, Jiwon takes his time to read each paper to exasperate the lawyer.  
  
A few minutes pass in which Jiwon feels increasingly saddened by what he reads, and it’s the pressure that lies behind every word, every call from his mother, every comment from his father, every look of reprobation from his brother that makes him start signing; however, when he starts to repeat the same stroke for the third time, he stops.  
  
“Can I keep them?” He asks, and his voice sounds softer than it has sounded in years in front of the lawyer.  
  
The man moves his hands over his briefcase impatiently: “What?”  
  
Jiwon tries again and mentally curses himself for having been so unpleasant from the beginning: "I think I need more time to read them and I want to review them more calmly.”  
  
“I know this type of tricks, Jiwon” He begins with a severe tone, apparently without intention to let his arm be twisted. “I’ll not leave this place without your sign—”  
  
“I know!” Jiwon silences him, producing the astonishment of the person in front of him. “I know.” He repeats with the innate softness of impotence. “I just need a little time, you should understand it.”  
  
The lawyer observes his face and in Jiwon no lie is drawn, he waits for a few seconds to see if Jiwon's mask is broken but nothing happens, and the expression of difficulty and pain that begins to slowly reflect on his features is enough proof that even if he wants to insist on the subject, he’ll not leave with the papers signed today.  
  
"Send them by post." He commands, defeated, and closes his briefcase before getting up from his seat and walking towards the door, now without anything more to do.  
  
“I'll sign them,” Jiwon assures him, because it's true, because he was already doing it, it's just that he can’t force himself to let everything go yet. He sighs. “I just need some space.”  
  
The lawyer lightens his expression to something that seems compassion before speaking: "I'm sorry," He says and it seems that the usual man didn’t speak, as if in a second he had become more human and softer than ever. "I really regret your loss.”  
  
Jiwon gets annoyed again, because life is unfair and he doesn’t want to be the object of anyone's pity.  
  
“We lose every day, don’t we?”  
  
The lawyer gives him a half smile before leaving and Jiwon is left with a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

 

__________________________________

 

 

" _I’m probably getting out of control._ " He thinks as he looks at his hands wrapped in white medical gauze and feels the ointment stinging his wounds, uncomfortably.  
  
"You exceeded yourself today." His teacher says as she closes the medicine cabinet in the nursing room of the university workshop.  
  
She doesn’t say it as if it were something bad, generally overdoing it with work isn’t usually something negative; however, that doesn’t mean they have to let it graze the dangerousness or affect someone’s health, and everything that Jiwon has kept for weeks stuck in his throat, hidden in his stomach, imprisoned in his chest, went out of control in the hour that he has free to prepare his textile project for the end of the year and that meant hours of soaking, squeezing and hitting fabrics until his knuckles bled from the cold and the force of textile handling.  
  
“Be careful not to touch the thin line that divides the determination to do a good job and the obsession.” And being honest, it bothers Jiwon to know why his teacher is being softer than usual, a woman of rigid and demanding teachings, although he accepts that he prefers to take advantage of his pitiful situation and save himself from the real sermon he should be receiving because of his unprofessional attitudes.  
  
“It’ll not happen again.” The acid that eats away at his entrails turns into bitter words and Jiwon detests that part of him that responds as if everything had just been a little miscalculation in the intensity of the dyeing process, that part of himself that’s getting accustomed to lying.  
  
“Jiwon,” She starts and he has to avoid smiling as a way to disguise the discomfort. “As a textile designer your hands are the most important thing you have and however self-absorbed you’re with your goal, your work will be useless if you don’t care about your hands, because without hands, there’s no dyeing.”  
  
After finishing, the teacher leaves the classroom after saying goodbye politely, leaving him in the solitude of his thoughts, and Jiwon is mentally prepared for what is likely to cause him a headache while he remembers that he must regain control of himself, he must be careful not to commit something that he may regret.  
  
_However, he doesn’t regret it now._  
  
Probably he would do it again, because Jiwon doesn’t knows ways to respond to annoyances other than to be silenced and act as if it didn’t exist, which isn’t necessarily the best idea; however, at work, in the university, in the textile world that dances around his eyes, things are different, a more abrupt movement, the scrubbing and squeezing with more force, the hit of the mortar with more zeal, the crushing of the color pigments until they become dust, the handling of the fire and the ashes unprotected, in every more violent detail Jiwon feels how slowly the tensions of his body dissipate and his annoyance, his contained anger, becomes admirable to the eyes, pleasant on the skin, becomes beautiful colors and perfect pieces, ready to be molded.  
  
His anger becomes art and he has to force himself to think that that isn’t acceptable.  
  
He takes a deep breath, repeats the mental list he has to tomorrow’s visit to the supermarket and closes his eyes. His body softens and calms down, Jiwon stays static in his seat until his emotions normalize because the day isn’t over yet and he must be careful, he doesn’t want the annoyance to become a part of his everyday life, he doesn’t want the lie to corrupt his unblemished and honest self. It’s simply that the demons within him are taking control of his life without leaving him an opportunity to do something.  
  
The clock that marks the time tied to his wrist says with its sonorous numbers that it’s just eight o'clock at night and that there’s, at least, one more hour available to use the machinery and spaces of the university, but he knows that it isn’t a good idea to go back to the workshop immediately, so he should at least wait for the ointment on his hands to dry before redoing some design molds.  
  
Maybe fifteen minutes of rest in the open air would do him good, he thinks as he gets up to leave the place, arranging his jacket to not get too cold outside.  
  
_What he doesn’t know is that he thought completely wrong, more than completely wrong._  
  
By the time the sun is already down and the moon begins to shine in its full splendor, the light pollution of the sector doesn’t allow his eyes to see the stars behind the power lines, and the noise of the cars passing through the nearby street is the only sound that fills the atmosphere to which he sees at full when he leaves the place.  
  
That and the silhouette of a person resting on the handrail that faces the main street, the brightness of his cell phone striking his eyes, small lights dancing around him. It's probably colder than Jiwon really feels or maybe it's the dye and the discomfort that makes him suddenly feel very hot.  
  
The step he tries to give is a bit hesitating, the colors of the night lights blind him a little, his eyes are fixed on the floor, on the bright green shoes, and he remembers that he should’ve turn off the boiler where he left boiling some fabrics.  
  
“What are you doing here?” He asks and in his ears his own voice sounds softer than he expects, but even with that, when he fully observes who’s in his front, the question seems not to be well received.  
  
Annoyed eyes, messy brown hair, a grimace of evident displeasure: “It’s the public road, I don’t need reasons to be in the street and I also study here.”  
  
Jiwon snorts trying to stop a dry laugh that probably would put Hanbin in a worse mood and he would be lying if he said that he doesn’t find the situation kind of humorous besides the obvious annoyance, because the street is big enough for Hanbin to be in any other place except outside the university at eight o'clock at night, moreover when at that time he should be at his job in the Koo family's tailor shop, back in town.  
  
He isn’t going to mention it because he doesn’t feel like arguing with anyone at this time of day, especially after enduring, at least verbally speaking, all what he’s been getting from the really difficult week he has had, and if his patience wasn’t broken the day that the lawyer went to bother him to the workshop, he’s sure that today he will be able to endure it.  
  
_At least 49% sure._ _  
_  
“Where are the keys?” Hanbin begins and his voice is colder than he remembers, so the words don’t make much sense to him, as if it were another being pronouncing them and not Hanbin with his usual affectionate, loving and caring tone.  
  
It’s almost offensive, so Jiwon is forced to wait a couple of seconds before responding to avoid jumping in vain: “What keys?” He tries as friendly as possible, because he knows Hanbin as much as Hanbin knows him, and he thinks he doesn’t have enough patience to endure Hanbin behaving like an uncontrolled man in front of him.  
  
“The ones that are always under the carpet.”  
  
Jiwon raises an eyebrow as if speaking the obvious: “I kept them.”  
  
“Why?” And Hanbin’s question is wrong, because the damn keys now are Jiwon’s, not his, so he wouldn’t have to give explanations of what he does or not with them, less with that intransigent tone that makes him feel as if they were in primary school again when Hanbin believed he was the owner of the absolute truth and all the secrets of the universe.  
  
He inhales and exhales quietly, responding with more understanding than he should: “Because the one that always left the keys inside the house wasn’t me and now that you don’t need them, it didn’t seem like a good idea to continue having them there.”  
  
“What a stupid idea you had because I need them!” Hanbin explodes, like an electric spark that produces fire and Jiwon doesn’t remember the last time he saw him so easily exasperated, so he assumes that he must be with the deadlines up to his neck and probably something went wrong with his design project.  
  
A shame? Maybe, but even if Hanbin radiates stress and tension in his aura, it's not Jiwon's problem.  
  
_It's no longer Jiwon's problem._  
  
"I couldn't have guessed it." He tries again, a little firmer and rougher, but it's as if Hanbin is trying to behave like an idiot, which lately isn’t a complete surprise.  
  
“Neither should have assumed that I didn't, now give them to me, I've been waiting here for hours.”  
  
That explains the pink skin from the cold wind, Jiwon thinks, but that doesn’t cause his heart to soften at all.  
  
“If you want to enter, y’know the kitchen window is always open”  Jiwon says as one who’s saying a joke, even with laughter included, and he can feel how his control begins to slip through his fingers, slowly falling into the game of the heated conversation.  
  
Hanbin threatens, eyes that change intensity to an almost bloody one, keeps his phone in his pocket and takes a step forward, approaching Jiwon’s immobile body, intimidating, imposing: “I'm not going to enter my own house through the kitchen window.”  
  
Jiwon doesn’t let himself be intimidated: "It's not your house anymore." He replies instantaneously, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, because, strictly speaking, at the moment when Hanbin packed his things and left, stopped paying the rent and never even breathes near there, it stopped being his house, and Hanbin has to stick a reminder of it on his forehead if necessary.  
  
A mockingly laughter and a second step make Jiwon's stomach twist and his cheeks begin to light up, " _You don’t want to argue Jiwon, you don’t want to argue_ " he tries to repeat silently, but Hanbin is making it difficult.  
  
“Then that's it?” Hanbin starts without giving Jiwon the option of answering or reacting because he doesn’t understand what he’s referring to. “Was this all a ridiculous plan for me to come and ask you for the keys to enter and thus you’ll be able to see me? Are you trying to bother me because you want me to return to the house to make you company?”  
  
Jiwon listens loud and clear, with even more clarity than Hanbin's full of disdain, mockery and contempt questions, how what seemed to be his eternal patience breaks, and it sounds like the tumbling of thousands of glass vases inside his head spilling over everything around him, overflowing the limits of everything he tries to project and protect, overcoming the desire for cordiality and love of one’s neighbor.  
  
He’s in the air, in nothing, in the middle of the sidewalk, under a lamp post and in front of someone who was so many things but who now behaves like everything that he shouldn’t, and Jiwon needs to lean on something because the world starts spinning too fast, and there’s nothing to cling to avoid falling. He hears the creak of his sneakers as he writhes slightly in the place where he is as if it were the crack of his temper breaking in two and everything happens in slow motion, seconds seem as long as centuries before he tries to unglue his sealed lips with live fury, hands trembling more than usual, cloudy mind, forehead that burns as a symptom of fever, jaw that tenses and features that forget to draw peace on his face.  
  
_Moral and social norms can go to hell._  
  
His fingers grab Hanbin's wrist, almost squeezing and taking him by surprise, grudgingly obtaining his full attention and speaking, without mercy or laughter in his tone or in his eyes: “I don’t care what you do or want to do, Hanbin, because you left, and if there was even a miserable piece of concern for you inside of me, believe me that I still wouldn’t care as much as you stopped caring that day,” He stops to breathe, arrange ideas, cancel insults and ignore the shock in Hanbin's body. The poison rises up his throat and corrupts his tongue when sees Hanbin’s eyes opened completely, as if he had received an unexpected slap full in the face: “If I was interested, I would’ve stopped you, but now you already saw how things are, so you can go and do whatever you want.”  
  
In just a few seconds Hanbin cools under the touch and his eyes extinguish like the stars when they die, like the day when the sun hides, like winter, lonely and distant, but he never takes a step far from Jiwon's hands.  
  
_Let's suppose it got a little out of his hands._  
  
That’s the conclusion he reaches when he looks at Hanbin's face deforming into a grimace of disappointment, flooding in silence, like someone who received a bucket of cold water that turned off all his emotions until leaving them in a zero state.  
  
Half of his mind shouts " _withdrawal_ " while the other " _inevitable error and surprising situation that went out of control even when everything was done to avoid it, but it was too late, yikes_ "; however, his own lie makes him sick and the bubbling taste of discomfort rises up his throat again, making him want to vomit only thanks to everything he has inside, and he wants to let go.  
  
There’s a battle of emotions in front of him, Hanbin looks for what to do and how to react, but Jiwon, sincerely, doesn’t pay much attention, because he knows that if he does, he’ll lose the only bit of sanity he still has inside of him and he isn’t emotionally strong enough to withstand another explosion, he can’t let his emotions control him, but he doesn’t want to implode either.  
  
Jiwon feels that his fingers burn under the bandages and the ointment, that the grip on Hanbin becomes tighter, that his mind still repeats curses like songs, that his will doesn’t want to deny the overflowing desire of his tongue to destroy everything with a simple word; however, under the dark blue sky and the reflection of the artificial light in the stained glass windows, in the handrail and in the murky eyes in front of him, Jiwon instantly calms himself when he sees Hanbin’s empty left hand and that recurrent photograph in his sight, repeated in countless moments that he wished to keep eternally in his memories, for the first time, isn’t in front of him any longer.  
  
The realization that Hanbin isn’t wearing his ring causes all the anger in Jiwon's heart to evaporate to only give way to sadness.  
  
He frees his wrist and knows that he shouldn’t, but his hands act before he can rate the options twice, taking Hanbin’s left ring finger, who remains silent waiting for some new confrontation, to caress him gently, observing the mark of the ring they shared and that today is just a memory.  
  
"I’m sorry." He murmurs, and forces himself to not let go the emotions that begin to irritate his eyes.  
  
He remembers the first day they used it, when they swore eternal love and danced by the river, when they laughed and kissed until the sky turned purple and the stars reflected in each of their eyes. He remembers the happiness that flooded him the moment they promised to be together until the end of their days, the day they grew up enough to commit themselves to make it work, to last, to never end.  
  
Jiwon no longer recognizes himself.  
  
Hanbin, as he has been doing for the past few months, simply doesn’t answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, for the comments and the kudos, I'm really grateful with everyone who's being supporting me in this road to write again, thanks again and see you again in the next chapter !! 💖


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